House Rules of a Terrorist
by Indigo Assassin
Summary: Evey is new to the Shadow Gallery, and V is new to Evey in the Shadow Gallery. Here are the results of their unlikely coexistence. Discontinued but up for adoption!
1. Rule 1

**A/N: Be warned, this is the first fanfic I have ever written. If it's terrible, review. If it's epically amazing, review. I hope to make this into 5 chapters or so.**

**I don't own V4V or any characters, even though that would be more awesome than chocolate covered bacon.**

_Rule #1 – The kitchen is off-limits when cooking._

He was foolish.

He had had no doubts when he brought her into his home after her half successful attempt to prevent his capture at Jordan Tower, yet he did not foresee the complications his new roommate would bring.

She was in him domain, his home; fearful with nowhere to run when his words had sunk in that she would remain in his home for a year. Her terror was palpable, her fight or flight engaging and compelling her to run from her new reality. One year with him.

For much of the night her faint sobs echoed and were amplified by the cold halls of subway stones, leaving nowhere in the gallery untouched by her sorrows. When she had finally cried herself to sleep, V remained standing by the Wurlitzer, deep in thought and as still as the Greco-Roman statues that lined the halls nearest to Evey's new room.

Come early morning, news of V's rampage and 'death' had reached every far corner of Sutler's England. Though he was not concerned for his apparent death in the eyes of the English, he was greatly troubled but not surprised in the least at the implication of Evey as his accomplice. Hunted by the finger, she would have no chance of survival outside of the gallery. Her leaving would be fatal for the both of them, but more importantly, the revolution. No, he had decided the moment he carried her unconscious form over the threshold of his home that she simply could not leave. It would be hard for her and especially trying for him so close to his goal, but it would be so.

And so it was that morning when she poked her head from her room after her self-imposed seclusion that he decided to lessen the sting of her imprisonment. Standing at the small gas stove, he smiled to himself under the mask as he heard her soft footsteps approaching the kitchen.

"V."

He turned to her in greeting; noting her eyes were puffy and forehead blackened where she had been struck by the detective.

Hesitantly she spoke, "I just wanted to apologize for my reaction last night" V nodded as he turned back to the stove as she cleared her throat and continued, "I understand what you did for me, and I want you to know that I am grateful…"

Her breath hitched slightly and he turned around to see what was the matter, a look of shock on her face.

"Your hands!"

He looked down, horrified at his carelessness. She must be disgusted, he thought as he mustered the self-control to calmly turn away and cloth his marred flesh. "That's better!" He said with a flourish of leather.

With his concentration now fully towards his cooking, he berated himself mentally; of course he would forget such a mundane detail as his gloves. But now he thought, what if? What if it was something more? A door left open that was not to be seen by another's eyes? Or something left lying about that was potential lethal to his guest?

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine."

She paused thoughtfully for a moment, not sure how to proceed with the subject, her curiosity piqued.

"Can I ask what happened?"

"There was a fire, a long time ago." He replied evasively, "Not very good table conversation."

Thankfully she did not press him for further details, and instead he found himself intrigued by her personal connection with his vendetta. A brother. Political parents. Time spent in the Juvenile Reclamation Project. There was certainly much more to this fleety vixen then meets the eye.

Finished with her simple breakfast and exhausted by their political banter, Evey rose from the table, but was halted by V.

"Evey, may I ask you something?"

She turned to him, not knowing what to expect, and nodded.

"I would like you to please not come in the kitchen, while I am cooking." She quirked an eyebrow at his somewhat odd request. But was it really so odd if it came from a half crazed terrorist, she thought. Or was that just normal?

In response, he quickly added, "I feel that it would avoid much discomfort for the both of us, in case of a repeat of today," and he held his hands up for clarification.

"Alright." In truth, they had not bothered her. Yes, it was an shocking to see a web work of scarring crisscrossing hands contrasted by a black tunic, but it had not disturbed her. However, she knew she was not in a place to argue with a terrorist, and took her leave back to her own room, leaving V to clean up the kitchen.


	2. Rule 2

**A/N: Reading 'Movie Night' might help a bit to understand some parts of this chapter, as well as knowing Rocky Horror Picture Show by heart.**

Rule #2 – Explosives do **not** go in food containers.

"_Michael Rennie was ill the day the earth stood still,_

_But he told us where we stand,_

_And Flash Gordon was there in silver underwear,_

_Claude Raines was the invisible man"_

V hummed along to the catchy tune he had found after his latest movie night with Evey. Content that his maiden was now safe and asleep in her room he was ready for a night of undisturbed work, such was his newfound habit. Sitting on a stool in his 'lab' of sorts, he could spend hours fashioning whatever explosive or chemical needed for his missions from the most mundane of household supplies.

"_Sciences fiction…double feature…Dr. X will build a creature,_" he sang softly to himself as unclothed and scarred fingers worked as delicately as a surgeons to perfect his latest concoction-nitroglycerin. Highly shock-sensitive, the task of creating it was tedious and procedural, but the result was a readily explosive liquid capable of leaving a fifty-foot crater wherever it detonates.

"How do you do I, se you've met-"

"Skip!" He shuddered as he commanded the media player. Evey might have enjoyed that particular number, but never again would he allow it to grace his ears. He was still much too damaged by the visage of Tim Curry in leggings and oversized pearls.

Several hours had passed by the time he had finished funneling the colorless and oily liquid into an old Pinot bottle. Looking over at the clock he found it close to five the next morning, but strangely he was not nearly as tired as he should be.

Shoulders aching from the combination of his latest shrapnel injuries and his hunchbacked posture, he stood and stretched for a moment, listening to stomach growling. He decided an early breakfast was in order. Since Evey had arrived his schedule had been severely thrown off balance, but it was finally beginning to right itself after a month of being in her feminine company.

He padded into the kitchen with sock-clad feet and reverently sat the explosive bottle down on the table before rummaging for a box of cereal he had gone out and gotten for Evey, hoping she wouldn't mind if a bit was missing.

Procuring a bottle of milk from the fridge and a bowl from the cupboard, his chair scrapped against the rugged stone floor as he took at seat and cracked open 'Legends of the Fall,' a recent literary find. Thoroughly engrossed in the sorrow-filled life of Tristan, he had completely forgotten about the result of his explosive labors and walked out of the kitchen without a thought to the large Pinot bottle dead center on the dining table.

Holding his head high sometime later as he walked out of his personal gym, he strutted not unlike a peacock towards the kitchen where he thought he would find Evey. He had managed to reach is pre-injury rep load and speed and felt a celebration along the lines of French toast was in order.

"V, where did you find the Pinot?" Her words stopped him cold. _No! _His feet were moving quicker than his mind, finding Evey swishing the contents of the bottle.

"Evey, STOP!" He snatched the bottle from her hands, willing the contents not to destroy them right then and there. Confusion was written across Evey's face as V tilted the bottle to keep the liquid from moving. _If anything had happened…_

"Did I do something wrong, V?" she asked hesitantly.

"No, rather it was I who did something very foolish," he gave a forced laugh, betraying the pure fear that had shot through him only a moment earlier. "I should have been much more careful where I had left that."

"The Pinot?"

"No, the nitroglycerin." Evey instantly paled. She didn't know much about it, but she knew he used it in explosives, and that was enough to send her slowly backing away from the bottle now resting innocently on the counter.

This movement did not go unnoticed by V and he seeked to reassure her despite his own fear. "Dear Evey, it certainly was not you're fault that you would think otherwise of this," he waved a hand at the now sinister looking bottle, "Please do not fret.

"But I could have-" He pressed a gloved finger to her lips to silence her, feeling their warmth and softness even through the obvious barrier.

"Sshh. Everything's fine. See? No holes in the ceiling or floor." He smiled behind the mask as he pulled her into a reassuring embrace, feeling dampness accumulate on the fabric of his turtleneck. _Oh Evey_, he thought, _why must you blame yourself for my own mistakes?_

"V." Her voice was muffled by his shoulder, "Your socks."

"What of them?" he traced small circles along her shoulder blades, releasing her when he was sure she was no longer troubled.

"No, they're just…loud?"

He looked down at the offending articles of clothing Yes, he supposed they were a bit out there, but perfectly reasonable to him. Being a terrorist did occasionally limit you're wardrobe choice, so should it really come to a shock to his Evey? "Should I change them?"

"No, it's just that neon blue and stripes aren't very you."

"Oh? What if I felt like 'mixing it up?' Surely I'm allowed to look like something other than an oversized bat every now and again."

"I suppose so. But _you_'re much more handsome than an oversized bat could ever be." She felt every muscle in his body tense as she said it but she would never regret telling him so. _After all_, she reasoned_, it had only been the truth_.

He caressed her cheek with a gloved finger, "Sweet Evey, I am unworthy of that title. Now; how do you feel about French toast this morning?"


	3. Author's Note

Just a heads up, this fic has been discontinued. I've currently been bitten by the Millennium trilogy bug, so V for V has been put on the backburner. This story is currently up for adoption if anyone wants to continue it. :D


End file.
